You Don't Know Me
by sophistication18
Summary: John Cena is repelled by WWE's newest Diva with the force of a thousand suns. But you know what they say, the harder you hate, the harder you'll fall in love. JC/OC
1. Chapter 1

"Look at her. Just because she's a Diva she thinks she can hide the fact that she's a total skank? Jesus Christ, remind me why Vince hired her again?"

I could feel how asshole-worthy and unnecessary my comment was but I couldn't help it. We were all at a club here in New Orleans, celebrating a new diva's debut. Apparently, her badass demeanour made her an instant fan favourite but I was far from it. The other Superstars and I were the only people who knew the truth.

Her name was Liberty and Stephanie brought her to the locker room just a little over a week ago. The minute Stephanie spoke her name, I just knew she was trouble. Plus, she mentioned she worked in an old bar, which was basically just code for "she's a stripper but you don't have to know that". After that, all the other guys had thrown themselves at her.

Well yeah, of course she was hot. You can't be a stripper if you're not hot right? But this was just _immoral. _How was the company supposed to live up to their kid-friendly reputation when they have a stripper working for them?

Randy Orton and John Morisson heard this and as usual, they went all good side-bad side on me; Randy – the one with the wife – being the good and Morisson – being the thriced-divorced drunk – playing the bad guy.

Randy the Angel tells me, of course: "That is highly judgmental of you, John. No one knows the whole story yet."

Morisson the Asshole snorts and says: "I heard Vince fucked her on the ring yesterday night. That's why those fishnet stockings have got so much holes."

"How could you, Nitro? You don't even know her," Randy scolded him in what I swear was a sing-song voice.

Morisson slapped him on the head while taking a swig of his whiskey. "I swear marriage has made you such a pussy. You sure you're the one with the balls?"

I laughed outright, picturing Randy's wife Sam with a strap-on dick and Randy laying on his ass. The laughing was replaced with a sudden urge to hurl.

"What are you wearing glasses for anyway? You look retarded," Randy said, referring to Morisson's trashy shades that he wore everywhere, including night time. That was supposed to be Randy's version of an insult.

"Stop being a jealous bitch," Morisson snapped at him, adjusting his green-framed Ray-Bans.

Whatever Randy's response was going to be was distracted by loud noises and that was when I saw the woman in question being cheered on by my fellow superstars as she chugged on mug after mug of cold beer. She finished five large ones before I could say 'Holy Shit'. After that, she poured the remaining ones all over her body, the liquid running from her white Beatles band shirt to her fishnet stockings and army boots. After she was sufficiently soaked, she held on to a pole and began dancing on it.

"Liberty! Liberty!" cheered the superstars whose dicks were threatening to burst from their jeans. I swear, some of these superstars might have cock-shaped brains. Even the _divas _were enjoying this. They all played buddy-buddy with her from the start.

"Disgusting," John spat. "She's going to ruin this company."

"Not everyone can work the PG13 babyface, Johnnyboy or are you jealous you're not McMahon's only bitch anymore?" Morisson told him with a laugh, even Randy guffawed.

John smacked the smirk off his face. "I'm nobody's bitch, Morisson."

Morisson adjusted his glasses. "Sure you aren't, pretty boy."

"What's that supposed to -?"

"Nothing, John. Nothing at all."

I glared at my best friend. I didn't like the sound of that at all.

"_Get off your asses, bitches! We've got all night!"_

I groaned. Even her voice was annoying as hell. But what irritated me even more was the whoops and hollers the people were giving her as they pointlessly jumped up and down to some monotonous music.

"That looks like fun," Morisson commented. I could see the glint in his eyes.

"Don't you dare."

Morisson was off on the dance floor. That was just about enough.

"I think I'll leave now, Randy."

I didn't wait for him to reply. I just took my beer and got the hell out of there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Here's another chapter for ya.**

**I'm having a damn good time writing this story and I'm really excited for it. I hope you guys check out my other story, Pretty Twisted. It's still about John Cena and an OC but in a helluva different world. **

**In the meantime, I introduce you all to Liberty Lafayette! Have a blast :)**

**Love, **

**Marchesa**

"Look at him. God, no wonder he's so damn successful. Pecs like that could get you anywhere. Don't even get me started on that gorgeous smile."

It had only been a week since I first started working in the company had been so open and welcoming from the start, it overwhelmed me, to say the least. I was definitely grateful for Vince. He had taken a chance with me and I wasn't going to disappoint him anytime soon. If it wasn't for him, I would still be back in the bar trying to pry away the hands that were groping around my shirt and shorts as I served them the tequilas they never drank. I was so glad to be free from that hellhole now.

John Cena seemed to be the only exception. Whilst everyone had been friendly, he had been pretty distant and I'd be damned if I didn't notice the dirty looks he kept sending me like I was some demon he wanted out of his sight. Even then, I seemed to have developed some crush on the poster boy.

"Morisson?" came Kelly Kelly's startled cry. "Lib, he hasn't won a championship in two years."

I rolled my eyes at BirdBrain BlondHead. One of these days, I'm going to have to give Vince a serious wake-up call that his Women's Champion was no smarter than LayCool combined. And the fact that she had just measured a man's capability by his championships seemed really shallow.

"Sweetie, the day I'll go after Morisson will be the day you'll learn what cacophony means." I left her to ponder that as I addressed the other Divas. "Anyone else know who I'm talking about?"

"Please. John?" I was surprised to hear that from Melina, who was usually just kissing my ass every five minutes. Thankfully, she knew how to think. "I'm sorry, honey but you're not exactly his type."

I tried my best not to look disappointed as John laughed with his friends Thunder Thighs and Tacky Shades. I could feel my thong soaking. Those dimples will be the end of me. "What makes you say that?" I asked her.

"The only person he's ever dated was his high school sweetheart and apparently, not all women can be as Stepford Wife as she is," Victoria said as the others nodded. "I've seen him hang out with suburb ladies with their color blocking pencil skirts and ruffled blouses. Johnny can't handle a diva, especially one like you."

They all nodded and hollered approvingly at that but maybe that was just because it was Victoria talking.

"I still bet he's a pretty good lay, though." Oh my God, was I actually defending him? Shit, I wanted him bad.

Melina laughed at that. "Honey, you'll probably be the _only _lay he's ever gonna have. Cena's pretty hot but he's gotten as much action as Santino Marella." She thought about that for a moment and changed her mind. "You know what, Maria actually slept with Santino that one night. Hah. It's official, Cena's at the bottom of the pack."

I smirked at that. He sounded like a challenge. Well, I'll be damned if I don't accept it. She took a swig of the nearest beer. "You know what, I'mma prove all you bitches wrong and then you're all going to regret why you didn't come after him first."

Melina smirked. "How exactly are you going to accomplish that?"

I smirked right back at her. "Bartender, I'll be needing ten mugs of that beer."

Before I knew it, people were crowding around me and cheering me on as I chugged mug after mug. The alcohol barely affected me now. I had grown up with drunks and for a while, I lived on them. After the fifth mug, I saw John eyeing me like I was some possessed woman.

"Liberty! Liberty!"

Oh what the hell. I poured the other half right down to my clothes and then regretted it right after. Shit. This was the Beatles band shirt my sister gave me for Christmas. I looked down to where Paul McCartney had signed. It was nothing more than a big black blotch.

Cena, you better be worth it.

I spotted a pole and began dancing. I ignored the rest of the testosterones and eyed one Superstar. He was _still _talking with those two idiots. I didn't really want to come so far as this but he gave me no choice.

"Get off your asses bitches! We've got all night!"

Finally, Morisson gets a clue and comes to join the rest of the party. Randy stayed there and kept looking stupid and John...

Fuck me now, did he just _leave?_

"Hey Lib, get on that pole again!" I didn't even bother to care who the hell just said that but I suddenly found myself walking out of the door to give John Cena a piece of my mind.


End file.
